Sensory Overload
The last year of travel has been like living in a thesaurus of the word beauty. It’s a dramatic change from the work-a-day world where beauty came in the form of small moments mixed amongst the routine responsibilities. Or week-long wows of PTO punctuating the annual calendar.
Fifth-wheel freedom for us means traveling wherever the wind blows. We recently departed the mountainous region of NW Washington, having visited the North Cascades, St. Helens, Rainier and Baker and pointed the mobile abode toward a three-week tour of the coastal region. Any one of those aforementioned tourist destinations can and does stand up as a wonderful area to explore. Countless hikes, waterfalls, lakes and vistas for the curious adventurer to fill up their camera with pictures.
So how in the world did I find myself standing at the base of St. Helens thinking…meh, that’s nice.
Let me rewind the miles to throw in some perspective. Donelle and I left Tucson in July with the thermometer bumping 100 gazillion (112F). Summer there is a relentless daily air fryer and we were thrilled to point north. We gave ourselves 8 days to get up to cooler temperatures and were so motivated that we made it in two and a half. In making such quick “work” of the journey we absorbed a remarkable transformation of terrain and sights in quick succession. We passed through high desert, mountainous red rocks and spent lovely overnights “off the grid” in secluded forest areas.
After passing through Salt Lake City we entered the bottom right side of Idaho and the sights got, well, bigger. We drove through a land of massive valleys which rose up into mountains on either side and framed some sweeping vistas. With extra days on our calendar we aimed for NW Montana and decided a four hour detour to Glacier National Park and Road to the Sun was worth it. In hindsight, the beauty in that park evades adequate description (even with a thesaurus) and photographic evidence on our phones surely minimized the grandeur.
Our route from there wound a twisty line along the northern part of the state and brought us to Idahoshingtana, north of Spokane, and additional scenic wonderment. Each dropping of the jaw was noted with a muttered “wow” as my mouth tried to translate what was coming in through the eyes. That experience was then dwarfed by the works of Monet, Rembrandt and Van Gogh all rolled into a single living film strip just beyond the windshield of the truck as we meandered our way through North Cascades National Park.
So, Mount St. Helens, while beautiful and historically significant … meh. And I’m not proud to admit it. In fact, we felt awful that “meh” had even entered the conversation because we feel so blessed to be traveling the country.
That sparked a conversation in the truck on the way back to camp and additional internet searching to add definition and clarity to our lackluster reaction to the bucket splendor. Turns out what we’d experienced is called hedonic adaptation, the tendency to get used to something that once felt special so that it no longer stands out. It’s also called the postcard effect…when you find yourself inside the postcard more often than out of it.
It’s a strange thing to live among beauty. At first every sunrise feels like a gift, a mountain a monument, and every lake a mirror of heaven. But slowly, without meaning to do so, the soul grows accustomed and the extraordinary becomes background. It isn’t that the beauty has faded. It’s that my eyes have taken in what once made me stop and it now passes by like scenery through a window. I wonder is this is the cost of abundance.
I know the mind’s eye will hang on to postcard moments from the Pacific Northwest just as it has from other parts of the country. It’s just that right now there are a whole lot of them up here. I’d like to think that we’re adept at appreciating each of those moments as they come along. Even now, having reached the much less mountainous region of the Washington Coast, we are still seeking out different postcard moments. Marveling at the towering bridge over the mouth of the Columbia river, crabs and jellyfish on the beach, and sea-salt-battered buildings sprinkled along the coast.
In thinking back to that moment at Mount St. Helens, perhaps “meh” comes across too harsh. It’s not exactly the opposite of the oh-so-eloquent “wow”I was using to describe something awesome, but it seems downright ungrateful, like we disregard this amazing opportunity. And that is just not the case. We are grateful for each peak and valley.
The lesson I am learning of travel is that the postcard changes. And the reality is, each moment will stand out differently … and that’s OK. So it’s not about the wow’s or the meh’s. There will definitely be a sense of wonderment upon seeing something grandiose for the first time. But there will also be comfort in returning to familiar landscapes. Travel provides the opportunity to do more than compare and appreciate all we have the privilege to see. It’s made us realize that the postcards are always around us. So, with that in mind, we’ll keep pointing our camper into the wind.